This won’t make any sense if you don’t read the previous parts.
Mind the tags. All characters are 18+.
4. True Submission
Elias caught a glimpse of his reflection in the poisoned surface of the neary mirror. His face was puffy and flushed, the remnants of exercise and perhaps a touch of humiliation. His hair, usually styled in a meticulously crafted cascade, hung limp and disheveled, a tangled mess that mirrored the disarray within him. His back was a battlefield of angry red scrapes. A similar pattern, a constellation of tiny red welts, marred the backs of his thighs and his ass, a reminder of where teeth had grazed and nipped.
A twisted sort of pride well within him as his gaze lingered on a particularly dark bruise adorning his hip. It was like wearing a badge of honor.
He witnessed. It was his last day with his Queen.
He wondered if these marks were all he would be left with. Would they fade over time, leaving only a faith memory of the blissful week?
“Found it,” the Queen declared, her voice dripping with a twisted satisfaction unknown to Elias’ internal turmoil.
His gaze flicked towards her, landing on what she held in her hand. It was a 9 – maybe 10? – inch long strap-on.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” She stood before him, a triumphant glint in her eyes.
He paled. Its size looked monstrous. “Ow, pretty boy, it will look even more beautiful inside you,” he gulped. “Don’t make that face, this is not even the biggest one in my collection,” a slow, twisted smile spread across her lips. Another challenge, his last challenge.
She disclosed her garments, revealing the familiar silhouette of her form-fitting harness beneath. A heavy velvet armchair, an imposing presence in the opulent room, was dragged with a purposeful scrape across the floor. It came to rest directly in front of the mirror, mere feet from where Elias stood.
With a languid grace, she settled into the chair, adjusting and coating the big dildo with lube. When she was happy with it, her piercing gaze fell again upon him.
Her arms stretched overhead, displaying the supplies lines of her breasts and her toned stomach, before gracefully folding them behind her head.
“This week has been exhausting. You, pretty boy, will do the work tonight. Sit.”
Elias’s approach to the chair was a tentative step, a show of submission against the ache in his muscles. But as he neared, the Queen’s voice, sharp as a whipcrack, cut through the air.
“Not so fast.”
A single, dismissive flick of her finger followed, another order. He was to turn, his back to her, facing the cool expansion of the mirror.
With a slow, measured turn, he presented his back to her, the reflection in the mirror showing the stark contrast between his marked skin and the Queen’s composed expression. His breath hitched as he glimpsed the monstrous dildo.
“Mhhh… so pretty,” she moanedappreciatedly.
The familiar heat rose in his cheeks and a knot of determination tightened in his gut. His only purpose was to fulfill her desire. He forced himself to relax and to sink on the massive fake cock.
His movements were clumsy, a far cry from the graceful dancer. He was exposed and vulnerable, missing her guiding grip. He stumbled slightly, instinctively, grabbing the arms of the velvet chair for support. Not exactly a sexy picture, but then, he met the Queen’s gaze in the mirror.
There was no mockery in her eyes, not this time. Instead, a flicker of something primary burned within them – a hunger that surprised him as much as it ignored a spark within himself.
“Come on, pretty, I want to see you take every single inch inside you, I want to see you bounce on it as if your life Depends on it.”
“A-UGHHH!” He sunk on the shake and barely took the tip. Heat rushed through him, hard and strong.
He rose a bit and sunk down again, trying to swallowow more of the dildo inside his ass. Each movement was an ageing struggle. Sweat, hot and beading, formed on his browser and trickled down his temple, leaving a glistening trail.
He had half of the dildo up his ass when he realized he wasn’t making any progress.
“My Queen,” he rasped, his voice rough and strained, “it is… too big. I don’t think I can manage.”
A sharp, dismissive sound escaped the Queen’s lips. A single, scornful “tsk.”
“I don’t think so, pretty boy. I have all night. And I have nothing to do but watch you impale yourself on this fucking dildo.” Her voice was dark and full of cruel promises. “So, sink on it.”
“Yes, my Queen,” trembling, he tried again. His muscles shrieked in protest.
He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing all his energy to take it deeper. “AWWW!” The moan that followed was a guttural sound, a mix of exercise and pain.
Up and down, inch by inch, he engulfed more of the dildo’s length.
He gritted his teeth, the taste of salt from his sweat mingling with the metallic tang of blood welling up from a bitten lip. With a ragged breath, he forced himself all the way down.
“AHHHHH!” He screamed loudly. It felt unbearable, his ass was unnaturally stretched. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this wasn’t humanly possible. It felt like his very insides were being rearranged, organs protesting against their unnatural displacement. For a long, increasing moment, he stayed frozen.
“Open your eyes,” she commanded, “See how your hungry ass took all of it.”
Elias eyes fluttered open; he forced his eyes to focus on the reflection staring back at him from the mirror. It was a sweaty stranger, its face flushed and contorted, its cock hard and pulsing.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Full,” he rasped. So full.
“Full and pretty,” she breathed. Pretty, the single word a curious whisper on his lips. It wasn’t a word he would ever have used to describe himself,Especially not in this state.
Her gaze fixed on him through the reflective surface told him a different story. The way her eyes lingered on him, a spark of something unfamiliar flickering within them, sent a strange tremor through him.
“Do you want to know how can you be even prettier?” She asked. “Bouncing on this dildo and hit all the good spots inside your little asshole.”
With the last string of his strength, he did as she wished and started shamefully bouncing on it. His cock throbbed and followed every movement of his hips. He abused his eyes; he wanted to be pretty for her but this wasn’t a pretty show.
The Queen’s reaction, however, was swift. She lunged forward, her hand clamped onto his chin. The force of it sent a jolt of pain through his jaw, but it was the hunger in her gaze, More intense than ever before, that stole his breath.
“No, no,” she hisssed, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down his spine. “You need to keep looking at your whoor ass and your poor cock.” Her eyes were ravenous as he kept bouncing. “Are you hitting the sweet spot inside you?”
“Ahhh! Y-yes!” He moaned.
“Good. You are so fucking pretty when you are a dumb mess chasing an orgasm. So pretty… Say it,” she ordered.
“I’m- I’m pretty,” he stammered, captured by her piercing eyes.
She rushed forward, with her hard nipples she grazed the raw marks on his back. She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. The whisper that followed was a seating brand on his soul. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice a husky murmur against his skin, “you are my pretty boy, all mine! Mine to fill and ruin.”
The week was over, the playtime almost finished. But he was… hers? Words were possessive, they sent a tremor through him. Was this a twisted fantasy she was weaving around him? Or was there a slider of truth in her words?
A sharp bite on his earliest interrupted his thoughts, “say it. That you are mypretty boy. Say it!”
The pleasure was too intense, too much. He grasped harder the arms of the chair.
“I’m your pretty boy, my Queen. Just yours!” He moaned, not even for a second stopping sliding up and down the dildo. He could see in the mirror that is cock was heavy, colored in a shade of angry red he had never seen before. Every bounce, every slap to his stomach was torture. It was screaming for release.
The Queen intensified her grip around his chin. “Ah!” The brutal strength was both familiar and welcome. She liked and sucked his earlierobe before biting it again.
“All mine.” A sharp thrust forward of her hips hit him.
And he came.
Elias’s reflection in the mirror mirrored the horror twisting his features in real life. His cum spilled from him, splattering onto himself, the mirror and the plus carpet. A stringed yelp, caught in his throat, turned into a choked gasp as he stared at the mess in a mixture of panic and disbelief.
He came untouched. He didn’t break her rule. Yet, he dared not tear his gaze away from the mirror, fearing the Queen’s reaction.
The game was over. What would she do now? Would he join the pile of discarded sheets and be thrown out when her chamber maids will come in the morning?
Then, he heard it. A chuckle, soft at first, bubblering up from within the Queen. “Perfect!” she declared; her amusement was geneine.
Slowly, cautiously, Elias pulled the fake cock out of his ass and unfurled himself from the armchair, his muscles protesting at the movement. He knelt on the plus carpet, as if he could hide the stains on it.
“My Queen?” he rasped; his voice rough with confusion. “I… I’m sorry.”
The Queen’s gaze remained fixed on him; her amusement tinged with a hint of something else. She rose from the chair, completely ignoring his confusion and apology. “Clean yourself up and make yourself presentable.”
Panic, however, threatened to engulf him. “Please, my Queen,” he croaked, scrambling to his hands and knees. He crawled towards her, a stark contrast to her regular posture. ” I don’t want to back to master Gregor, please! Don’t throw me away!” he pleased, desperation sharpening his voice. “I can be better, I swear!”
The Queen paused, “better?” she echoed, “are you deaf, pretty boy? Of course, you can be better, but I just said you were perfect.” He was lost. “Now,” she continued, “do as you are told.”
Elias scrambled to his feet. He cleaned himself up as best he could, and saw her do the same. When he was presentable, he stood before the Queen, a hesitant question lingering in his eyes.
She met his gaze, a silent exchange passing between them. Then, she slipped into a silican red dressing gown and grabbed the thick reports brought by the silent server he had seen more than once in days before. Without a word, she turned and walked towards the door. Elias, heart pounding in his chest, followed close behind.
Unable to contain his lingering fear, he blurted out, “my Queen, please don’t… throw me away in the middle of the night.”
The Queen paused, her back to him. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, devoid of malice and lacened with a hint of amusement. Turning slightly, she cast him a sidelong glance. “Who told you I was going to kick you out?” He didn’t know how to answer, or if an answer was even requested.
The Queen’s movements were purposeful as she snatched a flickering torch from a hidden alcohol. Elias trailed behind, more confused than ever. They navigated a series of dimly lit corridors, the silence broken only by the rhythmic tapping of Elias’ bare feet against the cold stone floor.
They reached a heavy, ornately carved door. Two tall big-chested female guards stood sentinel on either side, their imposing figures exuding an aura of silent power. As the Queen approached, they didn’t question her presence. A curt nod was their only acknowledgment, leaving Elias feeling like a ghost in this campestine process.
The Queen pushed open the door, revealing a secret passage. “You were never meant to return to Gregor, you dummy,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Do you think I would ever let go of that bubble ass!” she chuckled. “This week,” she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “was a short trial test. A glimpse into your potential. At the end, you could either become part of my court’s dancers for my entertainment.” She paused.
Then, her gaze met his, her eyes gleaming with an unexpected intensity. “Or… something more.”
He followed her in silence. Could this mean…?
“As you may know, I have an appetite… for submissive pretty boys, but finding the right ones is harder than you think,” she declared. “Submission is easy. Getting on all four and present your ass to your Queen is easy. Saying that you are mine is easy. But true submission is more than that. I want your heart, your mind and your soul. Owning your body is not enough.” Her gaze held his.
“When you ask the maids what kind of perfumed oil I like,” she continued, “or which hairstyle, when you seek out my favorite meal from the servants that are ordered not to chit chat with you, when you try to pry into my schedule with the guard that ignores you, when you are not only able to take a good pounding, but you crave it, when you don’t touch yourself, not even when left alone, when I call you pretty and you cum, untouched – that,” she stressed, “is when I truly own you. That, is the kind of submission I want.”
The truth hit him with the force of a tidal wave. She knew everything he had attempted to do to please her, every pathetic stumbling step. Of course, she knew.
A choked sob escaped Elias’ lips, barely audible in the echoing silence. All he had ever craved, above all else, was a slider or recognition and attention. And here he was…
They finally reached the final door, a stark contrast to the rest of the passage. Made of a dark, reddish wood that seemed to devour the light, it radiated an aura of mystery. Etched into its center was a symbol both subtle and fierce.
Elias squinted, trying to decipher the intricate design. Two serpents, their scales rendered in a swirling mosaic of gold and sapphire, their bodies twisted together in a perfect, eternal loop. It was the same symbol – the circle – the silent service had on his sleepe!
This was a representation of unity; the serpents were forever entwined, forever bound. But the most striking detail was a vertical band of glaiming gold that bisected the serpents at their midsection. It was a physical barrier, a constant reminder of the absolute power held by the Queen.
It wasn’t just a symbol; it was a warning. And as Elias looked at the Queen, a flicker of understanding sparked in his mind.
The Queen opened the heavy door with a set ofkeys he hadn’t noticed before and extended the sputtering torch.
“Welcome to my Harem, Elias.”
The Harem.
His name on her lips.
He felt like a bolt of lightning had struck him. An overwhelming urge, a primary need, rushed through him – to fall to his knees, to press his lips against the cool porcelain of her feet in a gesture of complete devotion.
But before he could succumb to the impulse, the sight that unfolded before his eyes stole his breath.
The entrance hall was a masterpiece of opulent excess: soaring ceilings, embedded with gold mosaics. Polished obsidian floors, smooth as black ice, stretched out before them, adorned with intricately woven silk tapestries.
To their left, a grand staircase, sculpted from poisoned jade, each step adorned with the carved image of a different exotic flower. On the landing above, a balcony bathed in soft moonlight offered a glimpse of private chambers, each door intricately carved. Througha series of arched doorways on the right, Elias caught glimpses of other wonders. A vast bathhouse, its steam swirling with the scent of exotic flowers and spices. Beyond a curve of beaded amber, a glimpse of a hidden garden offered the promise of tranquil seclusion amidst the vibrant energy of the harem.
Everywhere Elias looked, the air shimmered with a subtle magic. It wasn’t just a harem; it was a palace in a palace.
The air was pregnant of the intoxicating cent of the same perfume the Queen wore, a chaos that was both heady and strangely comfortable.
Lost in the sensory assault, he almost missed the man kneeing before the Queen.
The man had dark hair that brushed his eyes, hiding most of his face. Clad in what appeared to be silent trousers and a heavy black collar adorned with Harem’s symbol, he offered the Queen his complete and utter devotion. His head remained bowed; his attention solely focused on the woman he worshipped.
The Queen, her gaze soft and filled with a warmth he hadn’t witnessed before, reached down and gently stroked the man’s head. The action, so simple yet so intimate, sent a pang of jealousy through Elias.
He stood frozen, feeling like an intruder. The scene unfolding before him felt like a forbidden glimpse into a hidden world, a world where devotion manifested in ways he couldn’t quite comprehensive. The Queen’s attention remained solely on the kneeing man; her voice lacened with fondness.
“Did we wake you up, sweetie?” she cooed.
The man, his face still obscured by his hair, simply shook his head, offering no verbal response.
“Were you waiting for me?” she continued.
In answer, the man reached out with a long, languid lick to the Queen’s hand, looking like a pet longing for its owner. A giggle escaped the Queen’s lips.
“Did you miss me?” Another question that was answered by the man’s fervent licking. His tongue darted out, sweeping across her fingers once, twice, threetimes. His eyes, half-closed, followed the sticky messy path of his tongue.
“Is anyone wake?” Her voice was still playful yet lacened with an undercurrent of authority. The man shook his head again, his dark hair falling like a curve around his face.
The Queen chuckled, a sound both alluring and unsettling. “Mh, my sweet pet,” she murmured, “can you wake them up for me? I need to Introduction someone to you all.” Her sweet words, devoid of concern for the late hour, held an undeniable power.
Suddenly, the kneeing man, like a live wire suddenly charged, snapped to attention. His feline eyes, previously downcast, flicked towards Elias with a predatory intensity. A silent exchange passed between them. Then, with surprise agility, the man rose and disappeared through one of the doorways Elias had glimpsed earlier.
Left alone with the Queen, he took a big breath in.
This wasn’t just any Harem; it was the Queen’s Harem. It felt like an out-of-body experience. His own body seemed far away, a mere observer in this scene ripped straight from his fantastical imaginations. For years, the harem had existed only in hushed rumors and fevered dreams, a forbidden paradise for the Queen’s chosen secret consors.
Now, here he was, standing on its opulent threshold and it wasn’t just a dream anymore. His head was dizzy with questions, but one – the most important one – rose above the rest
He swallowed hard and finally spoke, “my Queen, does this mean I am part of your harem now?”
The Queen’s smile widened, “oh, silly pretty boy!” Her gaze sweeping over him in a slow, predatory manner, “my Harem is not a toy chest. It’s a living, pulsating organism, based on rules, unwavering trust, and absolute cooperation. Like a serpent shedding its skin, the Harem constantly evolves, and only who can adapt survive.”
She took a step closer, “you, pretty boy, need to learn these rules. The real test starts now and we will see,” she continued, her lips brushing against his cheek, “if you can be integrated and accepted… or if you will be spit out.”
Before he could say anything else, four men materialized on the jade staircase, their descent a whirlwind of rushing bodies and barely contained joy. He took a step back.
The one he recognized, the man with the dark hair and silent devotion, was among them. But the others were a revelation.
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